Words that Describe
by blueball
Summary: In which we move through Deidara's life.


When the first rays of sunlight hit him, he was an angel with his blonde hair and deep blue, but yet light, irises. He'd been a true beauty, or at least so he was told. He believed it was true though, oh so very true too, because on the day of his eight year birthday, he gained something he that could make all of his wishes come true.

If one asked, he would tell that it was never supposed to happen; he was never supposed to obtain such a dangerous thing, and he was absolutely not supposed to use it. He did though, and the comments of what a beauty he was quickly faded away as he found his true purpose in life.

As he grew, became a young man, he learned to fight for his life, to kill and use what he had gained to his village's wish. He hated it, loathed it, but because of his young age, he never dared to make any move towards the leader and his people, and was instead forced to finish idiotic missions to gain money and a right to live with his fellow sufferers.

Then he gained another word; traitor.

On a mission for a village far in the east, he'd played a little too reckless again and managed to get one of his teammates wounded. He hadn't cared about it though, and just went on fighting as if nothing had happened. Their teacher, his teacher, observed him thoroughly throughout the fight, and even though he won, he was never praised for it. In fact, they had all turned against him.

That happening, along with many others, made him finally snap and leave the village.

It hadn't been easy to escape from the village, and he went through quite a lot the following days. On the day before he managed to escape for real, he was reckless once again, and got caught between three others.

They had snapped at him, yelled, shouted, and then, finally attacked him. Though because they had used so much time doing this, he already had a plan formed in his little, brilliant head.

He blew two of them into pieces, laughing smugly, almost maniacally, as the blood seeped through his clothes and hair; just the feeling of the warm liquid made him thirsty for more, and he understood that it was so much more satisfying to kill whenever he wanted, than to kill for others.

The last one in the three-man team managed to escape, but he wasn't sure why his snickers and cackles hadn't made the poor man suspicious.

A week or so later, over half of his village was blown up, sources telling him that a white bird most likely was the reason why it had happened. He became a mass murderer as well, and was fairly proud of himself because of it.

The next word to be labeled on top of his head was `terrorist´.

Never had he thought that he would come to work for anyone. He was short on money though, and came over a small criminal group in a smaller village not too far from his own. Together with them, he began bombing buildings, people, and whatever one could think of, for money, getting quite a lot of it too.

When people began to understand that the pretty, white birds and spiders they brought with them home was the reason for all the bombing, they immediately tried to find the one that sold or gave them away; him. He became full of himself as they never managed to take him down, not even in close range battle, and that led to a cliff.

He was called a `brat´ by the ugliest creature in the universe, and had therefore gained another word that could describe him. He had never been fond of the nickname though, hating it with passion.

Three men had found their little place and invited themselves inside for a talk with him. They came with an offer, but he had been far too happy with his current lifestyle to even consider it. His attitude towards the three men had faded away quickly though, as he challenged one of them, and lost too quickly for his own liking.

He was forced to go with them, but had also been forced to get rid of any evidence that could lead anyone to him. He had to blow the building he'd come to love into art, members of his small gang included.

Loser; it was one of the first words he'd placed in the list of words that described him. He'd labeled himself as such when he had lost his fight against one of the three men, and then he'd vowed to never lose a fight ever again.

He did lose again, only three weeks later, and that against his partner in crime, the ugliest creature in the universe. Something had surprised him during their fight though and he thought about it for day and night; the ugly being he'd become so used to, had never been so ugly in the first place.

He'd managed to get in a good blow on the man, one of his creations making a huge hole in his side. He hadn't moved from his place in the clearing, not even when he had realized that the ugly thing wouldn't fall over and die. He hadn't even moved when the man opened in half and a much smaller boy had been reviled. Actually, he rather liked to believe that he hadn't been faced at all, liked to make his partner think that he had known all along.

That day he became a fucking idiot as well. For the first time though, he could retort back; his partner was labeled a freak.

His first mission in the organization had been quite simple, but after a fatal mistake on his part, his partner had been forced to save him. He wasn't happy about that, and not to mention that his whole image crumbled into pieces once that hand had grabbed his ponytail and pulled him out of the way. He was, however, grateful to his hair, because thinking that it was the golden locks that had saved his life, and not his boring partner, had made him feel better.

After this incident the two of them returned to their quarters, and he had almost immediately collapsed on his bed. This gained him the word `lazy´ from his roommate, whereas he could only reply by labeling the other `freak´.

The next words to describe him were `short tempered´, and this could be proved in three different ways.

He often had pointless arguments with his partner, in which they ended up discussing the real form of art even though they had began with something as simple as whose turn it was to wipe dust off the shelves in their room. Art was something that had always fired him up though, and if anyone ever disagreed on the form of real art, he would kill the person. Of course he couldn't kill his partner, so he had to threaten to stab that little cylinder in the man's chest instead. Too bad both of them knew he would never go through with this threat.

Another way to make him meet the ceiling had been to place a certain man in the same room as him, because if the man just spared him a glance, he would immediately have snapped at the man (for this he was labeled childish).

The last had been whenever he was talking with the cursing man. Despite almost always saying such as `hmm´ or `un´ in his own sentences, he had not been able to take hearing someone curse more than once in ever sentence. It had pissed him of greatly, and he had to take his partner out with him for some sparring later just to get all of his anger out. Those sparring matches had always ended up in arguments about art though, so he had never really been able to rid himself of his anger.

When he had completed his mission to capture the one tail, he had been more than smug, and if it hadn't been for this man following them back, he would've bragged all the way to their quarters.

Everyone, especially himself, had been surprised by his partner's sudden death, but he had been far from depressed, actually, he laughed when he had the chance to; he had felt so amazing, so smug and proud that his form of art had been proved the right one. His partner had never listened to him when he had told him about it, but now the other man had seen it for himself, and surly he believed in true art now.

He was labeled a survivor by his new partner, and he even got to label this man as an idiot, which had made some of his anger fade away.

The description that had followed him throughout his life, but had never really been said out loud, was `insane´. Insanity was one of the many words that could describe him perfectly, because he was reckless and he would do anything to win every fight he joined. Throughout his life, he only lost three times; the first was when the men came with an offer to him, the second when his old partner poisoned him in one of their sparring matches, and the third he never came alive from.

He liked to believe that he won that fight, and to himself, he did. He had seen fear in the little brother of the man he loathed, and that was exactly what he'd hoped to see.

The fight had been long and difficult, and had left them both without much chakra left. He had the upper hand and had been laughing, chuckling and snickering of insane joy. He loved the fact that he was winning! The fact that he finally had won against one of those he'd always dreamed of winning over. He could finally make them see what his art was all about!

The younger boy labeled him as insane in his own mind, he knew it, but he could only laugh of it, because he knew it was true, and before he was winning.

And then… then his world said bang, and he was no more.


End file.
